


Both Sides of the Medal

by Sarlania



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Master and Commander - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarlania/pseuds/Sarlania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1816, Sir Thomas Cochrane was implicated in the Stock Exchange Fraud of 1814, fined a thousand pounds, sentenced to the pillory, struck from the Navy List and stripped of his knighthood. Patrick O’Brian used that for his novel the Reverse of the Medal, and this is the event as seen from Hornblower’s point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Sides of the Medal

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Sharpiefan for the beta.

The carriage ground abruptly to a halt.

Hornblower was thrown head first from where he had been sitting next to Barbara. There was a crack as his forehead made violent contact with something quite hard and sharp.

“My dear” cried Barbara. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m quite fine,” said Hornblower. Grimacing at his own clumsiness, he picked himself up from the floor with, he hoped, some semblance of grace. Blood trickled down from his right temple as he straightened his coat as best he could in what little space was available. Barbara wordlessly reached inside her petticoat and passed him a handkerchief upon which her initials were embroidered. Hornblower hesitated for a moment before placing it on his brow with a smile and called out, “What seems to be the problem, Brown?”

“The streets are blocked, my Lord,” called Brown.

“Go around, then.”

“A man here told me that all the streets around Cornhill are blocked. Something about a demonstration, my Lord.”

Hornblower frowned and as he made to go out, he felt Barbara’s hand grip his arm. Her questioning eyes were filled with concern. “Be careful, love, you know how these gatherings often end.”

“Of course I will, dear.” She placed a gentle finger on his chin and for a moment their lips meet and her sparkling blue eyes reflected in his own. “Stay in the carriage Barbara, I’ll be right back.”  
Doubling over to get through the carriage doors, Hornblower reflected on how easily they had picked up their friendship, as if nothing had happened since she left the Lydia all those years ago. The familiarity, the ease with each other’s company, was such a contrast to his relationship with Maria. A twinge of regret reawakened in his heart. Love, like everything else in life, came at a price. Hornblower walked a few steps up the street to where Brown was standing by a door, talking passionately to a seaman who had barricaded half the street with an old horse cart. He turned around as he heard Hornblower’s boot stumping down upon the cobbled pavement. “It’s Aubrey, my Lord,” said he.

“Aubrey?” Hornblower exclaimed with some surprise. He had not heard that name for a while, not since news of Grand Port came in. “Sailor, do you mean Captain Aubrey?”

The man, noticing his epaulettes and the scarlet ribbon of the Order of the Bath draped across his chest, nodded and knuckled his forehead. “Yes zir! Cap’n’ Aubrey’s about to be brought out to the pillory you see. We all know the cap’tn a right soul, innocent as a lamb, he is. Those fuckers did ‘im, beggin’ ur pardon sir, but it was a travesty o’ justice, that’s what it was. So we’re here, as many as could be gather’d since we ‘eard ‘bout it from all the ports, Plymouth an’ Portsmouth an’ Chatham; to make a demonstration, a show o’ support, see?”

“Thank you sailor,” said Hornblower, tossing him a shilling. The sailor smiled and bobbed deferentially and returned to take up his position before the cart. “Barbara,” Hornblower called, “Brown and I are going to take a look. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Barbara’s muffled consent floated out from inside the carriage. Hornblower and Brown climbed over the cart with little difficulty and started to make their way through the crowd, who parted for them with excited whispers.

“It’s Hornblower!”

“It’s Lord Hornblower!”

“Gave Boney an’ the Frogs a right o’ lickin’ by escapin’ from France!”

“Returned from the dead he did! Remember ‘ow the Frenchies sayed ee was dead?”

“And capturing a prize too! The ol’ Witch, a fine sailer she is!”

“I ‘ear he’s been knighted.”

“Well of course you ol’ fool; look at that sash!”

“Did you hear about how he’d destroyed the Natividad back in ’09?’

“Just like Lucky Jack, he is. A fantastic captain to serve under, I’ve ‘eard, very much like Lord Nelson was.”

Hornblower quickened his pace, his mind not attempting to register the tendrils of conversation and whispers wafting in his wake. What had been happening since he’d been in France? The Aubrey he remembered was a well disciplined officer, beloved by his crew and a fantastic seaman. Rowdy and open, with a penchant for women, wine and the one thing Hornblower never understood: music. Surely whatever he could have done, it did not justify this sort of treatment from the Admiralty. And when was the last time a Navy Officer had been forced to endure such public swipe on his honour? Possibly not since Byng had been executed on the quarterdeck of his own flagship. He frowned, swallowed and asked: “Brown, what’s been happening?”

Brown looked surprised. “Well, my Lord,” he said after a pause. “Wilson, the sailor I was talking to earlier - he served under Captain Aubrey in the Sophie when she took the Cacafugeo - told me all about it. Apparently when Captain Aubrey returned from the Pacific, he was caught up with a plot to bring down the stock market by pretending that Boney was beat and then buying the stocks when they fell. Then, making a huge profit when they rose again. That’s the official version at least, my Lord.”

Hornblower’s mouth narrowed and he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. “I see.”

“Of course no one really believes that, my Lord, or seamen at least. They say it’s all a great conspiracy against Captain Aubrey, because his father has a great many enemies in the House. But the Judge still called him guilty, fined him two thousand five hundred pounds, sentenced him to spend time in the pillory and struck him from the List.”

Hornblower stopped suddenly, causing Brown to bump into him. “They did what?” he cried, the blood draining from his face. Those before him in the crowd turned in interest upon hearing his cry. Hornblower grimaced and, composing himself, he lowered his tone and stilled his face into a mask of aloof disinterest. “They did what?”

“Struck him from the List, my Lord,” repeated Brown. “That raised quite a row, I hear. If I may be so bold to say, it’s an utter disgrace. I’ve never served under Captain Aubrey, but the men who have think the world of him.”

They neared the Stock Exchange building and consequently the centre of the crowd, which comprised predominately of seamen and officers. As Hornblower’s mind tried to shift through the jumble of thoughts and emotions that threatened to plunge him into a state of dark despair, men came up to greet him; their wishes of joy on his return sounding stilted and awkward. Hornblower recognised a fair few, including Dundas and Pullings, and sombre nods and handshakes were exchanged. There was nothing that needed to be said between men who understood what had happened and was about to happen. Men for whom the service was their life, had been their life since they could remember. Men for whom honour and integrity were as important as success and renown. Men who could not see how one man could be stripped of that, this fundamental part of himself, and still have any will to take joy in life’s other offerings. Hornblower and Brown found themselves a place behind a short, seedy looking man in civilian dress. Hornblower shivered slightly as he took note of the pillory and a door, beside which stood two soberly dressed men. He stared up at the cloudy sky, at St Michael’s and the distant St Paul’s Cathedral; his eyes followed the movement of the pigeons as they circled above as if a primeval instinct within them knew something was about to happen.

He could hear the clocks, the bells, chiming in a jerky disconcerting fashion that reminded him of a winter not so distant, of smoke and snow and water. Luck, fortitude, patronage. Hornblower had always known that the service, for all its glory and excitement, was mostly filled with misfortune and despair. Misfortune when an enemy ship escapes, misfortune when a summer gale blows away the masts, misfortune when one is forced to concede defeat as bitter as it may be. Despair too he’d known, from his time as a Spanish prisoner, from his hunger-stricken days as a half-pay lieutenant earning his fortune on cards and from those he left behind to see them die, those he took who were irreversibly crippled for life. But then there are the rewards, the prizes, the accolades and being able to be once more with the woman he loved. He looked down at his chest, at the shining medal of his accomplishments pinned like a poor man’s gaudy baubles. It was a sobering thought, and as the last of the noise died away, Hornblower focused his attention back to the pillory and the door, noting that the sun had left its cover and was casting a blinding brilliance over the Stock Exchange building and the street. A hushed silence settled over the crowd in the street as the door opened and Captain Aubrey stepped out.

It had been years since Hornblower had last seen him; nothing unusual in a service that saw its officers out at sea for many months, years at a time. But the man who stepped out blinking into the sunlight and was lead to the stocks was nothing like the Captain Aubrey that Hornblower remembered. He was much thinner, for one, and there was a noticeable drop of the shoulders in that great frame of his that betrayed his unhappiness. That red, open, cheerful face that Hornblower knew so well was now replaced with a cold, blank and uninviting mask- a sort of face he’d seen so much of recently. A young midshipman beside him sniffed softly and Hornblower saw a single tear ran down his thin, pale face.

The sheriff’s men were now securing Aubrey; Hornblower saw the hands of the short man before him clench and unclench behind his back. He wondered who the man was, to feel such affection for Hornblower’s fellow Captain. The click of the bolt that fastened the board in place sounded like a cannon shot in the deathly silence. A powerful voice in the crowd cried “Hats off!” and in a concerted flurry of movement, hundreds, thousands of hats were removed. A strange emotion stirred within Hornblower’s breast as he followed suit. Then the cheering began; a full-throated, fierce and defiant cry that reverberated off the buildings and burst out into the sky, sending the pigeons scattering.

As the cheering engulfed the square, Hornblower felt a new emotion overtake him. He ducked his head and fought to contain the bitter smile that had threatened to break out across his face - jealously is rather unbecoming, after all. For he realised that it didn't matter if the damned man wasn't knighted. It didn't matter if he didn't obtain all the credit he deserved for his brilliance. No. None of that mattered because such loyalty and love Aubrey inspired in his men was worth so much more than all the medals in the world.


End file.
